Disclaimer: Yeah, the normal don't-sue-I-don't-have-anything-I'm-just-using-them-to-play mandate.

Author's Note: After the night I had at work, I'm surprised that I didn't write one amazing Eliot whump. But alas, more fuzzy feelings. I have heard the requests for Eliot abuse, and promise that I will get to it soon. This one just begged to be written first.

And thank you to everyone who favorited, alerted, and reviewed! I love you all and thank you so much!

Tears

She had no idea where she was going as she blindly ran away from the studio. Tears streamed down her face and all she heard was the smacking of her shoes' rubber soles on the concrete. She was faintly aware of the buzzing in her ear. It didn't even faze her that the buzzing was actually the members of her team trying to convince her to stop or to talk with them. She just wanted to be away, even from them. She trusted in the worn tennies to know their where they were going, because she, sure as hell, didn't.

When Parker neared Nate's building, she slowed her sprint to a very brisk walk. Forcefully, she shoved the door open, and almost barreled down the little old lady from 1A, the one who always smelled of cloves and sugar cookies. Ignoring the old woman's banter, Parker marched right up to the elevator and jammed her thumb into the button so hard it smarted. Mercifully, the doors dinged open and she was almost to one of her safe havens.

She collapsed to the floor in front of the couch and sobbed into the cushions. She brought her arms over her head, blocking out the world, trying to suppress that buzzing. Wait, that wasn't buzzing. She pulled out the earbud and tossed it someplace. Her tiny body shook from the pure, raw emotion- both from the deep wound her brother's death had been, and from the absolute violation Rand had done to her. She hated him; loathed him.

And, until she was forced to remember that horrendous day, she realized how much she missed her brother. The bicycle. Damnit. Why, the hell, did he have to bring up the frickkin' bicycle? This is why she hated psychics. They would know what happened and they would blame her too. Or pity her. Parker didn't know which was worse. If only she hadn't taught him to ride that bike. He would still be alive, her family wouldn't have been ripped apart, she wouldn't have gone through the system, and, hell, she might even be normal.

She hated that bastard. Effing hated him.

The sobbing subsided, and she leaned back against the sofa. She had nothing left to give; nothing left to cry. Her whole body felt completely raw, and the occasional sob would rake her body. She was tired, empty, and her legs felt like jelly. It was quiet through the entire building, so she was able to hear the elevator ding and four sets of shoes close in on the door. Eliot was right; there was a very distinctive sound to everything.

Oh God. They were there. They now knew what happened and they, too, would blame her. Despite her fear of facing them, she couldn't bring herself to move or compose herself. She just existed, and at this moment she didn't want to do that, even.

As the door opened, she mentally prepared for their accusing, and was getting ready to run again. "Parker?" came Nate's cautious, even gentle voice.

The couch was comfier than the floor, but not by much. Parker had traded her spot on the hardwood to lay curled up next to the armrest, cuddling a decorative pillow. Absentmindedly, she plucked the fringe around it. She wasn't happy, but she certainly wasn't miserable. She wanted him dead after they had shown her the footage of how Rand had tricked her into spilling her biggest secret. Eliot had even offered to kill Rand for her, and that brought a smirk to her face. Nate, always the voice of reason, was reluctant to allow bloodshed, but did vow that the jackass would get his comeuppance. That would have to do.

Her crew- her friends- was supportive and consoling. They hadn't yelled or blamed her. They were gentle and spoke softly, as if their voices would break her. When Nate stood to go to the kitchen, he had reached down to touch her head as he passed. Tara made some tea for her and set the cup on the coffee table before going back to plot with Nate in the dining room. Judging by the rattling and the sound of chopping, Eliot must be fixing dinner. Only Hardison now sat with her on the couch. He wasn't completely at the other end. He didn't sit on top of her either. He gave her space, but occasionally he would reach out, set his hand on her calf and gently rub small circles with his thumb. After a few rotations, he would remove his hand again. She was never a touchy-feely person. The small gesture was enough of reassurance that he was there for her if she needed someone, but it was on her terms.

"A'ight, guys," Eliot said from the kitchen, "Clear some room." The sound of rustling papers and porcelain plates hitting a hard surface came from behind her.

"I'll set the table," Tara said and there came more rattling.

"Parker, Hardison," Eliot called out, "Dinner's up. C'mon."

Hardison stood up and rubbed her knee. "Let's go, Park."

"Go on," she answered, "I'm not really hungry right now." Hardison shrugged and went off into the dining room.

There was some mumbling in between the clanking of plates as food was passed around. "Parker!" Eliot called out again, "C'mon, Darlin'. I got food for ya."

"I will in a little bit," Parker said back, "I'm not really hungry." There was some more mumbling and more clanking.

Heavy boots clomped over the hardwood floor up to the couch. A plate with twice baked potatoes, a honey barbeque pork chop, and even a small side of macaroni and cheese (with her favorite wagon wheel pasta) past in front of her vision and the plate waived back and forth before her. The smell was delicious. She smiled, but when she went to reach for it, Eliot pulled it away. A little whine escaped from the back of her throat and he snickered. He stepped forward once more and she sat up to take the plate from him. It was almost within her grasp, when Eliot pulled it away again and took a couple of steps backwards towards the dining room. Parker sighed and stood up to follow him. Eliot grinned and with a wink, tilted the plate in front of him, careful not to let any of the food drop. She returned his smile and followed him up to the table where everyone else sat watching this little game of cat and mouse. He pulled out her chair for her, and after she had sat, he placed her plate in front of her. "There you go, Momma," Eliot sat down on his own chair and picked up his silverware.

Parker looked around at their own little dysfunctional family. Hardison smiled at her, the edges of his eyes softer than when he normally smiled. At the head of the table, Nate gave a brief smile and nod to her. To his left, Tara; at first the intruder, in the spot that should be reserved for Sophie, but has been gradually was winning them over. Including now, pouring out wine for everyone. Finally, Eliot, already cutting his pork chop up, glanced to her. "I been slavin' in that kitchen for you, Darlin'," he raised an eyebrow, "I ain't takin' this 'I ain't hungry' bull." He pointed a fork at her.

She smiled, "Thank you, Eliot." To appease the beast, she stabbed a few of the wagon wheels, and stuffed them into her mouth. Mmmmm…. Eliot makes some amazing food… And how he could make something like macaroni and cheese gourmet was beyond her.

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